Kathmandu, February 2006 #2

Leigh and I have settled into a nice routine here in Kathmandu. Wake up during or slightly after the morning puja; read a little by dawn’s early light (still chewing on Centennial); walk down the road to the Double Dorje for a simple breakfast of banana porridge, Tibetan bread and milk tea or coffee; work on business or school stuff or wander around photographing for the next few hours; eat a simple lunch of vegetable and water buffalo momos (pretty tasty actually) or chowmein; explore the narrow streets and alleys of the city or visit some very famous stupa or temple complex during the bright afternoon hours; as darkness falls over the land and the last colors of sunset hit the high atmosphere wisps of clouds, we settle in for a nice dinner of vegetable then-thuk or thukpa (hand pulled noodle soup – very yummy!); and finally an evening kora or two before returning to our basic room that costs 5$ a night (kind of pricey for this place) for semi-warm showers and more reading until sleep overtakes us (which usually happens before 10!).

I’m glad I feel comfortable with the routine because we still do not know how long we will be sitting here in KTM before we hear word on our Chinese visas. We have been here since the 23^rd, Monday and it is now the following Wednesday, the 2^nd. That’s about 10 days now we’ve been here and the total length of time we ever thought we’d be here. Because of the Chinese New Year, which fell on Friday or Saturday, the government and university offices in China and here in Nepal have been closed since then and will not re-open until at least next Monday. Yikes! Granted we are spending much less per day in Nepal than we would be in Atlanta or Lhasa, so if we look at it that way, there’s no place we’d rather be stuck!

The food here is sensational – Nepali and Indian curries and all you can eat thali (daal, rice, curried veggies, fried lentil cakes and sweet yogurt), Tibetan momos (dumplings) and noodle soups, spiced masala milk tea or the rare and delicious treat of milk coffee. We have been pretty good at finding the local spots too. Where are living right now is a pretty touristy area so the prices are pretty inflated to match. For example, a plate of momos around the Boudha stupa runs about 70 or 80 rupees (about a $1). When Leigh and began asking around where the locals go to get their momos we discovered that not only were they tastier but they were half as much! At the local breakfast spot, a bowl of porridge (think watery oatmeal) with bananas, scrambled eggs, Tibetan bread with apple jam and a large pot of milk tea or coffee run us less than $2. Currently all our living expenses (excluding taxis or any other extraneous costs) are running us about $11 or $12 per day. And that’s for both of us! Sometimes I spend that much on just lunch in Atlanta. Obviously, we would be hard pressed to find a cheaper place to be living right now. Bolivia, Nicaragua or Thailand maybe. I can tell you right now that Lhasa won’t be this cheap (or delicious). Kind of makes me a little sad to be honest to get used to this kind of food and these prices and know that sometime in the near future it will come to an end and I’ll enter into the land of MSG, greenhouse grown bland veggies, yak jerky and instant noodles. Ok, so I doubt it will be that bad, but nonetheless I’m having doubts about losing any weight while here in Nepal.

I will say that to balance out the delicious food, KTM has some hellacious traffic! The snarls that occur during the morning rush and evening rush would give New York, LA or Atlanta a run for worst traffic. And as any of you who have ever visited developing countries, there are no traffic rules. There are no lanes per se, there are very few stop signs or red lights and even these are obeyed rarely. There does seem to be a rhythm or an organic pace to it though. And there are some understoods – the larger vehicle gets the right of way…always, the horn is the most important part of the vehicle…more than the wheels or engine, and pedestrians are merely to be missed…don’t ever yield to them. It’s like when we are jumping into a tiny beat up taxi we are putting two quarters into the video game called Taxi Ride. How many points will you get this time? How close can you come to that motorcycle without hitting it? How fast can you go thru a pedestrian filled alley that is only the width of your car? I mean who need to go jogging when they can just jump into a (insert foreign country here) taxi and ride white knuckled, heart racing, forehead sweating, eyes closed for 30 minutes across town? And there is no such thing as emissions inspections here. It is inevitable that at some point during your ride, you will get stuck behind the slowest, dirtiest construction or transport truck that just billows black exhaust into your taxi and therefore face. Ah, the lands of black boogers….I have already purchased a breathing mask. Might be the most essential piece of equipment next to clean underwear and socks…oh how mom was right! And to make things even worse (if possible), this has been the driest dry season Nepal has seen in over 15 years. It is incredibly brown and almost unbearably dusty on some days. Recently the winds have come in to blow some of it away, but when we first landed, we couldn’t see the high mountains that surround this valley for the dust, haze and smog. Hmmmm, just imagine what it’s doing to my lungs…..yum.

As we were walking around the other day, Leigh made a very astute observation: neither one of us have ever seen a place that mixes religion and commerce more completely than what we’ve seen here. There is no distinction really. There are holy days and holy places in the US and they seem to be kept separate from the commercial areas. For example, you typically don’t see vendors hawking their rosaries, votive candles or prayer books on the steps of the First Baptist Church. But here there are no distinctions. Here you have the most sacred Buddhist site in Nepal and at least fifty store fronts within 15 yards of the walls. And that’s not even counting the merchants that have set up shop on the streets in front of the store fronts. Vegetables, cheap watches, colorful clothes, spices, incense, prayer books, thangkas, freshly butchered meats can all be found crowded close to the sacred stupa of Boudha. A natural and almost unnoticeable gumbo of sacred and profane. A perfect mirror of life if you ask me.

Did I mention Nepal seems to be Bindu or Hinddist? They not only mix the religious and the commercial, but they mix the iconography, architecture and ritual of these two predominant religions often. Coming upon a very old temple located in the narrow, crowded, animated, colorful and totally stimulating alleys located in the old heart of KTM where the crumbling traditional wooden architecture (such a shame that there isn’t enough money to preserve it right now) is now side by side with the high rise glass and brick structures, there on the temple were both Hindu and Buddhist aspects. The mix was so natural and seamless it seemed to be a temple for both and neither at the same time. Totally bizarre yet interesting. I wish I had more time (and inclination) to study up on my Buddhist and Hindu histories because they have been meeting and mixing in this area since at least the 5^th or 6^th century BC.

Speaking of sacred spaces, I want to mention a couple that we have visited recently. One, Swayambhunath, is Buddhist while the other, Pashupathi, is Hindu. The golden spire of Swayambu stupa crowns a wooded hill about 2 km west of KTM. Historical records of its existence date back to the 5^th century. It is also called the “Monkey Temple” for the hordes of pink faced, mischievous devils roaming the temple grounds and surrounding forest. The roots of the temple go back to the legendary beginnings of Kathmandu’s valley. Once a miraculous lotus blossomed from the lake that once covered the valley, radiating a dazzling light called “Swayambhu”, the Self-Created or Self-Existent. Gods and men both came to worship this miracle, until a wise monk named Shantikar Acharya, sensing the coming of the current Dark Age, buried the magic light underneath a stone slab and atop it built the stupa. Swayambhu’s worshippers include the Vajrayana Buddhists of Northern Nepal and Tibet, but the Newari (the indigenous inhabitants of the KTM valley) Buddhists are its most fervent devotees. Just past the colorful main gate and the three orange and yellow stone Buddhas are the real test of devotion – 365 worn stone steps leading straight up to the top. At 5000+ feet, it only takes a few before the breathing gets heavy! At the very top is a gigantic gilded vajra resting on an embossed mandala, set on a stone base carved with the 12 animals of the Tibetan calendar. The views of the valley are outstanding here and the nice cool breeze makes it enticing to linger for a moment. The stupa behind has grown in layers over the centuries, as it has been repaired from earthquake damage and from destruction in the brief Muslim invasion of 1349. It is by far the most magnificently decorated stupa complex I’ve ever seen and according to records, a typical 17^th century repair session required 39 kilograms of gold…that’s almost 20 pounds! Very much like my experience many years ago at Borabordur, this is a site where the architecture is truly inspiring and lends itself to the direct experience of the sacred moment of enlightenment. It is difficult to describe but after slogging up the many steep stairs, occasionally looking up to see the goal of my struggles, and reaching the top of my climb where the golden stupa gleamed in the sun partially blinding me and the blue colored eyes gazing down at me serenely, I experienced a direct connection with the divine and had an instant of complete understanding and awareness. I was drained of all thoughts, all egos, and all carnal distractions and felt the high, piercing light of oneness with my surroundings, the earth and for the faintest second, the universe. There was nothing but my awareness and I felt empty yet full. It was so amazing. The feeling departed quickly, but knowing that once can feel that way, even for just a second, is inspiring. And to evolve the thought, if one can feel that way for a moment, one can feel that way for all moments. Sacred places lend themselves to sacred thoughts….

The second I mention is Pashupatinath. This temple is Nepal’s most sacred Hindu shrine and one of the subcontinent’s great Shiva sites, a sprawling collection of temples, ashrams, images, and inscriptions raised over the centuries along the banks of the sacred Bagmati River. The essence of Hinduism is condensed into a rich brew, as pilgrims, yogis, priests, and devotees worship Shiva in his form of Pashupathi, “Lord of the Beasts” and divine protector of Nepal. Pashupatinath is a magical place. The largest temple complex in Nepal, it retains its integrity as a living place of worship. Pashupitnath’s grounds are set with rows of linga, long lines of stone Nandi (the name of the bull who acts as Shiva’s vehicle), and Licchavi-era (Hindu dynasty which ruled the valley from 300-879 AD) sculpture fragments jumbled in careless heaps. The two most sacred things about the temple complex are the Shiva linga (among other things a phallic symbol of masculine generative power) enshrined in its main temple (which unfortunately or fortunately is “For Hindus Only”) and its location on the banks of the Bagmati. Little more than a stream in the winter months, it flows past ghats where worshippers and mourners mingle with pilgrims intent on mundane tasks like laundry and dishwashing. We watched as devout Hindus dipped themselves three times in the holy (and polluted) water. Spiritually equivalent to a dip in India’s Ganges, the ritual assures a release from the cycle of rebirth. Even as appealing as that sounds, after taking one look (not to mention the smell) of that water, I think I’ll suffer through a few more cycles before taking the big plunge on that one. A man’s got to know his limits! In addition, Pashupatinath is Nepal’s most renowned cremation site as well. During our exploration of the complex we were able to witness cloth wrapped bodies carried by barefoot pall bearers (male relatives mostly as women are supposed to stay at home and weep….this is still a much divided culture). At the cremation ghat, the eldest son performs rites to assure the soul a smooth transition into the next world. The body is then placed on a log pyre and the white clad mourners (not black like in the West) watch the slow (and smelly) destruction of the body. A couple hours later, when there is nothing left, the ashes are swept into the river where they are carried south to join with the Ganges. These ceremonies were being carried out with apparent disregard to the many Nepalis and scattered tourists watching or photographing the scene.

After taking in my first public cremation (and the aroma that comes with it), Leigh and I continued to wander through the sprawling complex and at one point encountered a very magical and mysterious scene. Pashupatinath is also a mecca for wandering yogis or sadhus, ascetics who have renounced family and caste to follow Shiva. They are usually bearded and long haired, typically dread-knotted. They wear on their faces the colors signifying their particular sect. They may be naked or wrapped in beautiful robes. Some spend their lives performing austerities, refusing to lie down for years on end or surviving on a diet of milk (while we were there the “Milk Baba” was giving audience). Some are red-eyed and smokers of tremendous amounts of Shiva’s favorite herb, ganja. Others are skilled musicians, and on this day we encountered the musicians. Coming up some steps admiring the rows upon rows of sacred lingas, we heard live music and followed the sound to its source. An older Nepali man wearing a traditional hat was playing the harmonium and giving what seemed to be a teaching in both song and speech. Fascinated and drawn in by the mesmerizing drone of the harmonium and the hypnotic rhythm of the accompanying tablas, Leigh and I drifted over and found a place within the group surrounding the musicians to sit. We stayed for at least an hour or more listening to verses we could not comprehend but somehow understood, bobbing our heads in time with the beats laid forth by the skillful drummer. At one point there was a changing of singer and drummer and they were even better than the first pair. The voice was strong though a tad raspy and the passionate devotion shined. The ash covered sadhu who took over the tablas was exceptionally skilled and I became lost in a mental space of warm sun, sacred song and beautiful beats. It was a very mystical series of moments that afternoon. We felt privileged to experience such wonderfully expressed and blessed compositions.

I feel magic occurs everyday if my heart is open to receive it.

Kathmandu, February 2006 #1

Leigh and I went to a rally today at New Road in Kathmandu (bad idea #1). Gotta say it was pretty upsetting and powerful experience. It was a new experience as well. It became clear to me early on in the rally that there is a difference b/t photography and photojournalism. And today it was obvious I do not want to be a photojournalist. Basically I was running around, not really running but kind of observing more than anything, taking a few shots here and there (nothing I’m really proud of, nothing that’s really any good). As this is a new start for me this year, it is a year to try new things and this was something I wanted to try – more hard news, more photojournalism, and more international press type of photography. I also wanted to see first hand the state of affairs in the country I’m staying in. Seems like there’s a protest or rally everyday and there’s a picture on the front page of The Himalayan Times everyday. Leigh wanted to join me (against my objections), but she insisted on coming and was interested to see for herself too. So we made our way down to New Road casually, leaving plenty of time to get down there and walk around, waiting for something to happen. There were a whole lot of police in their blue camouflage, and I mean twice or three times more than we have seen any day previous (as these protests are announced and usually grace the front page of the papers, the police know where and when things are going to happen). They were congregating around the major road intersections, especially the entrance and end of New Road. New Road is a very short paved road in the heart of Kathmandu. At one end you have the Durbar Square, or old square, where the King and his court used to have residence and now is one of the major historical (and therefore touristy) areas of the country. The other end intersects at a T with Kanthi Path, a major artery for the inner sections of the city. So this is a very short section of road that basically dead ends at either end. There are a few minor side streets branching off of New Road and these lead to the narrow, crowded alleys that maze their way throughout KTM. So Leigh and I kind of walked up and down the road for about an hour, putzing our way around, waiting for things to happen. The rally was scheduled for 3:30 and at around 3:45 with still nothing happening, we decided to visit a rooftop café at the Durbar Square end of New Road. From this high vantage we could see virtually all the way down to the other end of New Road and of course as soon as we ordered our drink I had the gut feeling something was about to happen and I should get down there now. Brushing aside the feeling (always a bad idea because the gut is almost never wrong), I sat and waited for our soda to arrive. And sure enough, as soon as it did, there was quite a large commotion down on the street at one of the minor road intersections with New Road. (Later we were to find out that corner is the place for political gossip in the city, so it only makes sense that things erupted at that appropriate spot). It seemed to be a fairly spontaneous start to the rally as Leigh and I had walked by that same corner several times just minutes before. As soon as I saw the shooting masses and other press people running down the street to the scene, I dashed down the steps to go do what I didn’t know, photograph it I guess, leaving poor Leigh to pay the bill and try to find me in the chaos (bad idea #2). Oh, and I’m running into the face of unknown danger without having equipment insurance and without having confirmation on my medical insurance (bad idea #3). Needless to say the day was full of dumb, rash ideas – it will be the theme of the day. We didn’t have a coordinated plan or a meeting point if things got hairy, which they did. When I arrived at the scene, I was actually surprised to see so many press people and photographers, both still and video. I don’t know why I was thinking that somebody wouldn’t be assigned to Nepal or the political troubles specifically but for some naïve reason I didn’t think Nepal would be that important to the international press. With some 20 or so photojournalists and video journalists there and about that many writers, I stopped and watched a very grotesque circus-like theater develop before me between the protesters, the police and the press. Between scattered, disruptive groups (there was no one large protest or group marching in one direction) shouting slogans and such, there was always a smaller yet more visible group of fluorescent yellow vested photojournalists hovering around the most animated or vocal enclaves like vultures or jackals smelling blood from a wounded, near dead animal. They would literally chase down the street the story, the image. It is very difficult for me to describe accurately all that was happening, all that I was seeing, and all that I was feeling during these hectic, frenetic moments. The whole thing seemed like a spectacle. It didn’t seem to me to be a very organized rally because the groups were small, there was no discernable direction they walked and there were no apparent leaders. But as events progressed and the police there on the scene became more aggressive, this flexible and organic system seemed to protect the protesters most effectively. As the police would come in and break up one group, the members of that group would split up and melt into the surrounding crowds. Then when the police were moving off to chase another group, that previously dispersed group would coalesce once more to form a strong nucleus of shouting protesters. And in this way the large crowd that was watching would become amused and laugh like it was a joke and the police would become more frustrated and angry at being mocked and taunted. It was this tense, strangely amusing game of cat and mouse for awhile. It really didn’t seem that serious for the longest time. There were Human Rights Watchers present, wearing their blue vests. There were UN staff, not soldiers, there with their light blue vests (one of which I watched eat her lunch while this was all going on…so strange). The police had their padded riot gear vests on. Then there were the press with their yellow vests. Boy, I really felt left out of the vest game! In fact, there was this one photojournalist who came walking by me with his climbing helmet on, oversized hip bags dangling from his waist, his two cameras yoked around his neck and his yellow vest on with a printed paper saying “PRESS” taped to his back. And as he came by me, he asked me in what I think was a British accent, “Is that new?” indicating my camera. Confused by his question, I asked him what he was talking about. To which he replied, “It looks like its right out of the box”. I then realized he wasn’t talking about the camera at all, but me. It was as if he was asking me whether or not I was in the right place. Of course if this is what he meant, then he is obviously an asshole. Was it a hazing? A teasing? An accusation of being green behind the ears? Regardless, the spectacle of the press interacting with the protesters and police and the relationship they seemed to have in this food chain, to me was fairly gross. The strength of that feeling surprised me. And I was relieved to feel that way. I was relieved to know that I didn’t like what I was seeing, nor did I want to be a part of it or have people like that British press photographer as my work colleagues. How does this leave me feeling about press? I still distrust them and still think they are vultures and too opportunistic. I still feel like I did back in 1993 when I took Journalism 101 at UGA and when we hit the section on sensationalism my interested in journalism died. I am not the type of person, nor do I ever want to be, who can coldly handle a camera when death, grief, heartbreak, terror, fear or pain are in the viewfinder. I am not the type of person who could work in a war zone, risking my life for what could hopefully be my next career making picture. I feel that international media works for propaganda, whose depends on the situation. I feel that generally the press (or media, the words are interchangeable) only increases or continues stereotypes. I feel that generally the press is only focused on disasters, death, conflict and negative events. Are most international press photographers adrenaline junkies, looking for the next reckless rush? Probably. Do the media serve a purpose? Yes. If the international media (the Nepali media are repressed and censored in heavy handed, dirty ways presently) were not there, who’s to say that the police wouldn’t have used guns instead of just batons to break up the rally? If it were not for media, then world leaders would not be held accountable for their actions (at least before the corporate takeover of journalism this was the case). Yes, there seems to be a place for media, but that place has become corrupted and twisted and now seems to be more monstrous and harmful than beneficial. Let those who choose that path walk it the best and most conscientious way they know how, and I will walk my path as a humanitarian-documentary-travel-human-interest-story photographer. The question of whether or not I ‘had what it takes’ to be a hard news press photographer was never really a question for me. I have always known that I don’t. Listening to my heart, I have always been more attracted to the beauty in the world, not the ugly. And that’s what I want to share to my viewers. Today was a strong confirmation of all this: it’s not me nor do I want it to be me – some hard skinned, cynical, aggressive, rude photographer running from bad news to bad news. Anyway, watching the press during the rally was almost more fascinating than watching the rally itself! Maybe I could do a story on the press? Burn all my bridges everywhere! Today’s events have left me confused in some ways and also somewhat depressed. As the rally continues, I eventually filter into the middle of things and start shooting some pictures. I felt like I had to do this to see for myself and experience it directly: do I have what it takes or will I like doing this? The images I was making were all uncomfortable and clichéd. I don’t feel strongly about any of them really and I think the discomfort and inexperience shows in them. At one point there was a police truck that was trying to make its way through the crowd when someone from the crowd threw a brick and smashed the front window. And there were the journalists, all over it; like now things were really starting to heat up and things were getting more intense. Eventually there were a couple of police baton charges where they run at the group swinging their batons at anyone who is Nepali (they carefully avoided the international press people and only abused their own). There were several hundred people there, not all of them actively demonstrating. Waving flags, shouting slogans, throwing pamphlets. With the tension mounting and the police getting more aggressive, Leigh and I should have left. Neither one of us was comfortable nor is it not like this was some Nepal tourist destination. Hey, instead of going trekking, we’re going to the rally today! But with some sort of gross fascination, I wanted to keep watching. I think that deep down I wanted something more dramatic to happen and I was soon to be granted this wish. It soon became obvious that the police were starting to move methodically down the street from the Kanthi Path intersection down towards the Durbar Square intersection, chasing people down the side alleys and trying to systematically disperse the crowd. They also started to use water hoses from the fire trucks to push people back. Thinking I could get some images of that scene, I started to walk towards that end with Leigh much farther behind me (bad idea #4). As we approached the police turned the hose on the crowd and then as the water subsided, they charged with their batons swinging. And the crowd Leigh and I were in, turned en masse and started running the other way, almost sweeping me away. Sadly, it did sweep Leigh away. She was seeking shelter in one of the side alleys (bad idea #5) when this stampede of people ran into her, knocking her down and with it her 500$ camera fell to the street where it was promptly stepped on my several feet and broken. Luckily, the crowed did not step on Leigh at all and she managed to narrowly escape serious injury. When she found me a few minutes later and I saw her ashen face and that she was visibly shaken, she told me what happened, showed me the bused camera, her bleeding knees, and it was only then did we finally scramble out of there. My shame was very great at having put my wife in such danger. It also made me very angry at myself. How could I have been so rash, so stupid, so naïve, so blind, so irresponsible to the serious danger I was putting both of us in by coming down her for mere curiosity, for mere show, for a personal experiment? For shame Jason, for shame. What else did you expect was going to happen at a forcibly suppressed political rally? I was upset with myself, I was upset with her. At that point, the game was definitely over and we left the area as fast as we could. The scene was only going to get more violent and aggressive and after reading the paper the next day our fears proved true.

Kathmandu, January 2006

I feel like the white rabbit – I’m late, I’m late! Always looking at his watch and running around. Or the serpent who is eating his own tail – what mythology is that? I forgot. Anyway, we are having too many adventures these days and not enough time to catch up on the writing about them. I’m afraid this will be a continuous theme throughout my time here. Too much fun and not time to talk about it! So it is now Friday the 27^th and we have been in Katmandu since Monday afternoon. 4 ½ days and there is so much to tell.

Let’s skip briefly over the 30+ hours of traveling we endured just to get here and just say it was the longest span of continuous traveling I’ve ever experienced. The long lines, the stuffy planes, the terrible airport/airplane food and the ever present and stressful connection times – all make one exhausted. And that’s what we were when we landed in KTM: bone tired. Not only that but our worst nightmare had occurred – we had arrived, but our luggage had not. Yes, that’s right, all 4 precious pieces of our baggage; our lives for the next 1+ years; untold amounts of money in equipment, clothing, gear, documents, etc; all of it was completely missing, somewhere between SF and KTM and neither China Air nor Royal Nepal Air could locate it! It was a disaster of highest magnitude. Amazingly, in all my travels all over the world, I had never lost any luggage. Not once on all those terrible airlines I’ve flown like Pakistan International Air or Indonesia Air or Delta, had my baggage been misplaced. Yet on the one journey that I had literally all my ducks in one basket, that basket goes missing. Ouch. Leigh and I had only what we could carry on the plane which was as we both realized the most important things we owned anyway. For me my camera equipment, laptop and money were all in hand. Same for Leigh. So the utter despair was lessened somewhat knowing our physical bodies and our totally irreplaceable things were safe and accounted for. Nevertheless, can you imagine packing up your lives into 4 relatively small bags and then losing them? It’s not a pleasant feeling and we were not happy campers. Anxious thoughts of insurance claims, replacing irreplaceables, the loss of so many sentimental attachments, the loss of necessary camping gear and computer equipment…..it was the most hollow feeling in pit of my stomach…..and one of the worst things about it was there was little we could do about it. It was virtually out of our control which made it even more infuriating. So with our barest of possessions with us and after filling out the necessary (yet seemingly futile) paperwork, Leigh and I left our prayers with the baggage gods and entered KTM.

Since Leigh has been here on more than one occasion and since she speaks Tibetan (which many people here speak), I have deferred to her in almost everything – where to stay, where to eat, where to visit. It has been a really nice exercise of letting go and made the last few days much more enjoyable as well.

We are staying in the Boudha area of KTM, whish is in the east, slightly outside the main city area. It is mostly Tibetan in population. There are at least 5 major monasteries in the immediate vicinity. It is very quiet (except for the really obnoxious barking dogs right next door!). It feels a little touristy, but not nearly as much as the tourist center of KTM: Thamel. There is still some very definite charm here that hasn’t been swept away by the tourist machine or the civil conflict that has been simmering in Nepal now for over 10 years. The feature attraction here is the Boudha Stupa, which if any of you have seen the movie ‘Baraka’ (and if you haven’t, you should), it is the very large, very beautiful stupa with the large eyes painted on all four sides of the golden pillar (which symbolize the stages toward enlightenment) sitting atop the large rounded white base. Built in the 5^th or 6^th century, it has an aura that transcends time and is one of the most revered sacred places in all of Nepal for Tibetan Buddhists. And built up around the stupa are many buildings in traditional architecture. Many of these are filled with vendors selling malas (similar to a rosary and made of polished stones or sandalwood mostly), turquoise and coral (both revered by Tibetans), thangka paintings, various incense, bus tickets to Delhi or Lhasa, a many, many restaurants to serve not only the Western tourist (of which there are few currently) but the Indian, Nepali or Tibetan pilgrim. At any one time there are hundreds of people doing kora around the stupa. Kora means circumambulating a holy place – monastery, stupa, mountain, etc – in a clockwise manner and in doing so gaining merit.

During the taxi ride out from the airport, I did not get to see the stupa because of traffic, my weariness, and the darkness of night. But once Leigh maneuvered the taxi to the Lotus Guest House where we are staying, a simple yet comfortable place run by a local monastery, we put our stuff down and walked down the narrow alleys back to the stupa. After walking down the narrow winding alleys for 5 minutes and then coming abruptly to the square where the stupa is situated and the view opening up and there towering before you is this gorgeous work of architectural art with all these people walking in the same direction around it….it really stopped me in my tracks and I was really taken back by how truly impressive it is. And this was at night with garish fluorescent lights shining on it. When we came back the next morning and saw it in the beautiful golden morning light (it is the dry season currently - the weather is cold at night and warm in the sun during the day), it literally took my breath away. Simply stunning. Just seeing this sight with the golden cap gleaming, hundreds of birds sitting on the white shoulders, pilgrims from various parts of the world enjoying a communal moment of spiritual unity and the all seeing eyes gazing out serenely, just this moment lifted my spirits and I felt a genuine smile creep onto my face for the first time since the baggage disaster. After doing kora ourselves we settled down for a nice breakfast of banana porridge, milk tea and fried eggs at the Double Dorje (infamous within Leigh’s circle of friends). What a welcome to Katmandu!

Like most places in the real world, the senses are totally stimulated. So much color in the dress and skin tones, so many different types of people which means so many different languages to hear – Hindi, Nepali, Tibetan – so many sidewalk markets selling vegetables and fruit, thick smoke from the juniper and cedar incense burning from every shop doorway or window, the calming meditative chorus of early morning puja (prayers) coming from the nearby monasteries, the thick choking smog of exhaust or burning garbage, the cacophony of various bird voices mixing in with the other sounds of the city, the sound of the colorful prayer flags snapping in the stiff breeze, children’s laughter (a beautiful universal sound), Bollywood pop music blasting and in competition with the soft melodic chants of kirtan (spiritual chanting) music….this is the kind of stimulation I want from a city!

We had hoped to be in KTM for only a week or slightly more, but after hearing from our people in Lhasa who are working on our visa for us, that has now been extended for at least another week or more. First there is Chinese New Year’s which started today and the offices there will be closed for at least a week. Bad timing, eh? Next, it seems that my background as a photographer has raised some red flags there. And now our paperwork has to be sent to yet another office that deals with media/photographers type of thing specifically. This is not good news and we have tried to reassure anyone there that will listen that my background is in photography, not journalism and there is a big difference. Our quoted chances have not gone from 90-95% down to 80-90%. And yet hear again, a major turning point in our lives is out of our hands. We have virtually little control on how they will handle this new development and it could mean the difference between getting our visas and not. I can tell already that this bureaucratic process will cause me more trouble in the future as well. If they are wary of me now, before I’ve even gotten into the country, how are they going to feel when I need to leave and come back several times over the next year? How can I expect them not to keep tabs on me since I’ve now raised a red flag? This will only compromise my freedoms there….to the point where I feel it isn’t even worth it to be there anymore? We shall see. So now we must wait until after the Chinese New Year holiday and then hope that they will approve our visas in a somewhat timely manner. Ultimately, our goal is to be there by the end of February, so we still have some time to pray.

Let’s recap shall we? NO BAGGAGE and NO VISAS. Oh, and a week later, I’m still sick. Sounds fun doesn’t it? This concern over our baggage continues thru Monday, Tuesday and into Wednesday. For 2 ½ days we do not know if we will ever see our bags again.

Finally, on Wednesday afternoon, our luggage arrives in KTM!!! It had been flown from Bangkok, not to KTM where it should have gone, but Brisbane, Australia! From Brisbane it was flown to Singapore then back to Bangkok and finally to KTM. When we found our bags on the luggage carousel, all 4 of them no doubt, I literally fell to my knees, hugged them all and gave all the thanks and praises a hoarse man with a sore throat and nasty cough can give! And now that our luggage is safely in our hands, we both feel 1000% better about our situation. Yes, hearing that our visas have come thru will be the icing on the cake, but for now, we are content and happy to explore KTM together.

San Francisco, January 2006

The city of fog, the city of wind, the city of hills, the city of liberal thought, the city of citizen activists, the city on the bay, and the last city of America we shall see for some time.

We arrived on here on Wednesday evening, driving over the Golden Gate Bridge a little after sunset. I still feel a thrill driving over that span of water. Such a national icon! And for those of you who need to know for your next trivia game, the color of the paint is international orange, whatever that is. At least it’s not Home Depot orange. We drove down after spending time in the redwoods and visiting some of my old haunts around Arcata (about 60 miles south of the Oregon border, 230 miles north of SF – basically in the middle of absolute nothing except rocks and woods – they don’t call it the Lost Coast for nothing).

The redwoods are simply magical. They are beyond description in beauty and dimension. You can’t do them justice with words. They are ancient, strong, solid, tall, and all around perfect creatures. I won’t ever forget seeing Leigh’s eyes light up with joy and delight as we entered the first groves of redwoods. Her inner child came out to play in the big, beautiful woods. And the redwoods welcomed her. Massive pillars of living green energy, they are sacred and every step we took filled our hearts with love, admiration, humbleness and love. They were magnificent in their virtual cloud forest that hangs over the North Coast from November until May. Regal and noble beings, the redwoods. Redwoods are some of the oldest species of trees on Earth and at one point (during the Jurassic) they stretched all the way to Michigan. I am always humbled yet honored to be in their presence, and I sensed this was how Leigh was feeling too. There is something uplifting and energizing about walking in their shadows. An instinctual and ancient sense of security seeps into your soul when walking in the deep groves. On the other hand, it also saddens when I enter the redwoods (or any ancient forest) because I am always stuck so profoundly by the perfection in balance of these ever shrinking forests and the bitter fact they are disappearing much too fast as well. It must have sparked something deep in Leigh as well, because as we drove farther south and began to leave redwood country she got very teary and emotional. I had always felt strongly about these primeval guardians of the forest, but to see someone else feel such emotion and love so quickly after meeting them....it was a blessing to be witness to the glory of Mother Earth.

Kowanasqatsi, a Navaho word meaning ‘life out of balance’. A great and powerful film. Highly recommended.

Speaking of trees, I just have to spend a second on what I consider to one of the most beautiful trees in the world: the madrone. Whereas the redwood is a giant among its peers, a solid, thick, commanding tree that is not know for its diversity; the madrone is unassuming, graceful, elegant, and quite colorful, everyone is unique and completely different than its neighbor. Ranging from 25 to 50 or 60 feet tall, the madrone is an evergreen of sorts (it is not a conifer, nor does it have needles….it just never loses its leaves during the year). The most striking thing about the madrone is the colorful trunks. Reds, coppers, tans, browns, greens, yellows, all can be found in the attractive trunk of a madrone. There is a back of course, but the bark over time peels away to revel the inner hardwood that has an uncanny resemblance to skin. It is smooth and feels wonderful to the touch and runs a wide spectrum of color. To help accentuate the transition from bark to skin-wood, the different layers peel back much like a beech, so there are these beautiful scrolls of madrone. And the farther up the tree you go and the more narrow the branches are, the more bark-less the wood is, so by the time you reach the upper canopy of a madrone there is this beautiful play of color between the copper-red of the wood and the deep green of the leaves. They are simply a treasure to behold and the hills coastal northern California are covered in them. Visual poetry in tree form.

Sadly leaving the land of big and elegant trees, we continued south into the hill country just north of San Francisco. The visual cornucopia continued as the weather was anything but boring. There was hail the size of acorns twice during a 3 hour span, there was rain, drizzle, broken clouds, strong winds and even some warm sun during the 250+ miles we drove that day. Down thru the vineyard country and then west over the small coastal hills to the Pacific, we connected with the scenic highway 1 for the rest of our journey south. The ocean, whose power has affected all we’ve seen so far on our West Coast journey, welcomed us with warm sun and glorious views. The road was not the quickest I’ve ever taken as it twisted and turned over the hills and bluffs that marks the western terrestrial border. Past Point Reyes and Muir Woods, down thru Sonoma and Marin counties we traveled, enjoying each other’s company and the visual splendor created by the sometimes delicate sometimes harsh dance between the land and sea.

As night approached and the sun was setting (first Pacific sunset since our Panama honeymoon), we drove over the icon of San Fran: the Golden Gate Bridge. Such an incredible feat of engineering, such a marvel! But once across the bridge, we both immediately started feeling the strong anxiety of being in a larger city. Our senses were assaulted with horns, lights, fumes and so many people. It was such a dramatic switch from the peaceful, slow, quiet places we were enjoying for the last week. Even Portland, a large city by comparison, never felt this urban or crowded.

Trying to readjust to the pace of the big city, we tracked down an old Humboldt State friend, Steve who had offered us a place to stay in his communal house located between the Mission and Castro districts. This location could not have been more convenient. Basically in the heart of the city, between two very engaging and very different neighbor hoods (the predominately gay and colorful Castro district and the predominately alternative and ethnically diverse Mission district), this Victorian style two story summed up SF perfectly. We were offered a room with a comfortable bed (our first real bed since leaving the east coast!) for 5$ a night. Talk about getting the hook up! And it was wonderfully San Francisco. What I mean, all the roommates were pretty liberal and pretty activist. Much of the talk around the breakfast table centered on which protest or rally you were going to attend that day. And it was one of the only houses in the area to survive the 1906 earthquake and subsequent fires, so it was a really old house but totally charming. After dropping our bags at Steve’s and dropping the rental car off, we had an interesting Indonesia meal and then an even more impacting walk back to the house. Much like Price Siddhartha’s departure from the palace, Leigh and I came face to face with suffering during that walk. Passing more homeless than I care to count, we also saw prostitutes, drug users, shady characters and unhappy souls. I was starkly reminded of all my privileges.

My other friend from HSU, Kathleen, came up to visit as well, so it was a really nice reunion for a couple days. Besides a brief visit in ’01 with Steve as he was passing thru back to SF from his stint in Senegal for the Peace Corps, I had not seen either one of them since leaving Arcata (home of HSU). They were 2 of 3 friends I made and kept from those isolating and lonely days spent out here. We enjoyed the next few days of unusual sunny SF with walks to the parks, lunches of Pakistani or Mexican food, good deep conversations about ‘the broken system’, politics, compassion, our lives and our dreams. It was very pleasant to reconnect with these two great people and I hope it won’t be another 8 years before we see each other again.

We also had great time hanging out with our friend Laura, her roommate Ryan (only other girl I’ve ever met named that besides my sister) and her friend Rob. They took us around as well and showed us lots of great places to eat, including this one sushi place that had extraordinarily creative rolls, really beautiful servers and played Godzilla movies on the wall while you ate. Very SF, very fun. Did you know there are over 260 sushi places in the bay area? I mean it boggles the mind. I think I would eat sushi and nothing but sushi if I ever lived here. Personally, I don’t want to live in SF. Too big, too urban, too concrete. Leigh and I agree that we want to live somewhere smaller.

Finally the big day arrived: Saturday, D-day, departure day, and last day in the States. Throughout the morning, I helped Leigh repack all 4 of our luggage bags as 2 of them were well over the 70 lb limit China Air had set. Filled with a strange sense of calm, I felt naively ready to leave. It was odd, but I didn’t really feel anxious or stressed or excited or anything really. I just felt like this was the next step we had to take, the next stage or our adventure. I can’t explain it, but this sense of calm, which sometimes approaches numbness, overcomes me in advance of a big trip. Even during my stint with CARE, I would feel this way. Maybe it is a defensive response, maybe it is ignorance, maybe I am too functional or practical in someway. Or maybe I just show my anxiety in other ways, like getting sick (which I am and have been for a week now!). Nonetheless, the day passed and evening approached. We said our good-byes to Steve, Kathy and SF. Laura came to pick us up and took us out to dinner at a nice restaurant called Home (appropriately named as this would be our last meal at home). Leigh had the city’s best Mac ‘n Cheese (and it was delicious), I opted for the green salad and vegetable medley. I felt the need to really store up on raw foods, fruits and veggies before entering the land of dried yak meat and roasted barley!

Northern California, January 2006

Today we reached the Pacific!!!

Right after the sun went down we descended down from the Siskiyou Mtns, following the absolutely pristine Smith River and passed thru the ‘seen better days’ town of Crescent City. This was also right after Leigh had her first Redwood experience in Jedidiah State Park on the way out of the mountains. She was just in total awe (for good reason) and was feeling very sad when we left them. But then we just kept driving west thru town until we couldn’t drive anymore and there she was, the glorious and stormy Pacific!

Such a profound site to see, especially after coming thru such winding, narrow canyons following the river then thru the dark, tall temperate jungle of the Redwoods, finally arriving at the end of the country, the border between terrain and aquatic. Land of mammals makes way to world of fish. I can really understand how early explorers like Lewis and Clark or Jedidiah Smith felt upon arrival at the Left Coast….awe, humility, gratitude, rapture, excitement….all of these same emotions washed over me as I gazed out over the dark waters, watching the sun make its final exit for the day. The soothing sound of waves crashing and the refreshing but chilly kiss of the sea breeze were my first moments out of the rental car.

The figurative waves of memories washing over me came next. For those who don’t know, I spent over 1 ½ years out here on the coast during a student exchange between Humboldt State University and the University of Georgia. And if it weren’t for a particular red head pulling me back to the East after my student exchange was over, who knows if I would have ever moved back? My time in Northern California was both very challenging and enriching. Yet at the same time, I know that I was not living up to my full potential either. Like the land around me, I was in a fog most of my time here and was not aware at the time (or choose to ignore) my self confidence and self esteem. It was a dark time for me, a lonely time. I felt more alone out here than I ever did before or since. The coast here is very inhospitable, with jagged rocks and very few deep harbors, and it avoided settlement until the middle of the 19^th century when gold was discovered nearby. So it is a somewhat isolating place and living here I definitely felt isolated and alone.

Friends were hard to come by out here. There is an unfortunate air of paranoia out there that I believe prevents people from opening up to others are readily as they would in say Portland or Boulder or Athens. I kept knocking on people’s hearts only to be left out in the cold. Maybe everybody here was too stoned to say hi. Maybe the weather and constant winter rain disrupted normal social norms. Maybe I was young and stupid. After all this was over 10 years ago (10 years…WOW!) and I have grown stronger and surer since those tentative days. But I honestly believe there was something more going on that to this day bothers me and feels like rejection. I’m dealing with it in my own time (or no time apparently).

However, I did make a few friends while I was out here, and as a matter of fact, I’ll be visiting two of them while in San Francisco! I am very excited to see them again, especially after so many years of just keeping in touch through phone or email conversations.

But I digress (which if you haven’t noticed by now, happens a lot…..the tangential mind is a terrible thing to waste)…..

It was a perfect day for a drive! The weather for our drive through Oregon today was out of this world. There were colors in the sky today I have never seen before – patches of peach and green and blue. Cloud patterns and colors that were sublimely beautiful (and totally distracting). The sun was shining down on us today almost all day. Sometimes through breaks in the clouds, sometimes in the clear blue sky, sometimes through the mist and fog, and sometimes the poor sun was pushed away by the occasional bully cloud who just didn’t get the memo that today was a sunny day. The scenery driving south from Portland was very nice too. We followed the Willamette River for about a third of the trip, and then into the Umpqua River drainage for another third and the final third we followed the Smith River in California from the snowy mountains to the pounding sea. Towards the southern end of Oregon and on through to Northern California was a striking covering of snow on the tops of the tallest ridges and mountains. It had only just fallen the night before and down to only a certain elevation. So where we were driving was nowhere close to the snow, but driving and looking out to either side we could see the snow crowned hills standing tall over the sun touched river and farming valleys full of dairy and sheep (yes, I said sheep) farms. It added such a surreal dimension to the drive.

We started the day renting our car in Portland. A red Toyota Corolla. And following the tradition we started on our honeymoon in Panama where we named our little green rental car La Raña Verde (the Green Frog), we named this one La Raña Roja (the Red Frog). This will probably be the last car either of us drives for quite awhile. Even after not driving for a week, it was weird to get behind the wheel. After a warm farewell on the streets of downtown Portland from Deb and Moon (her wonderful canine companion), we headed off for a quick ‘ciao’ to Sasha (Leigh’s other best friend here and who we had a delicious and most enjoyable chill night of wine and conversation at their place one night while we were here). The trip has worked out wonderfully so far. The first part of it being all Leigh’s friends – Christy, Deb and Sasha. This next part, the second half, is all my friends – Jeremy & Mebyne, Steve, Laura, Todd and Kathy. So besides tonight, we have a place to stay with friends. It has been so great and I can only imagine it continuing as such.

From Seattle to Portland is only about 3 hours or around 200 miles. But after you get to Portland, the next big city is San Francisco, about 12 hours or 600 miles away. Like I said, with its un-navigable harbors, rocky and cliff -like shores, not many people wanted to settle here back when the white man thought he owned everything he saw or touched.

So we find ourselves, after 6 hours or so in the car, and a beautiful drive later, staying in the Redwoods National Park in the Redwoods Hostel. We would have preferred camping in the woods and experiencing the coast a little more directly (not to mention saving some much needed $$), but the threat of rain here is ever present and we did not want to have to deal with wet gear in San Francisco or on the plane. So we played it safe, bit the bullet, and paid for a bed. And I have to tell you, this place if really charming. It has the set up of a B & B – Victorian house, you stay in a bedroom, there’s a cute couple running it, a kitchen, common room, etc. Very cozy, very pleasant. But you definitely have much more independence and autonomy here. You fix your own food, do your own dishes. Personally, I like it a little more than feeling like I’m staying in someone’s house and making them cook and clean for me (after all I just got away from living with mom again!). The Hostel overlooks the ocean and we can hear the waves thru our bedroom window. It is still warm enough here to leave the windows open for fresh air and not get cold.

Before I get too much distance from my last couple days in Portland, there are a couple of experiences I want to share. The first is the Japanese Gardens, located in Forest Park (the largest urban park in the United States). These are world renowned gardens and after visiting them I can understand why. They are breathtaking, even in the winter! While walking by sculpted green trees; meticulously raked white rock gardens; and waterfalls, ponds, bridges and stone arranged in such a visually ordered yet naturally harmonious way; I realized that this is probably my favorite garden style. It resonates very deeply with me. The interaction of man and nature in a harmonious yet creative way. The structure and order sculpted from the apparent chaos of the natural world. The deep meditative qualities that bubbles to the surface after spending just a few minutes sitting in such a place. To see everything around me treated sacredly, respected and cherished for its inherent qualities. It was 3 hours spent walking through a Temple to Life, a Temple to Earth…..This undeniable reverence to Nature and Mother Earth is the main reason I go out into the woods and camp or backpack so much. To experience life directly, with all the senses opened, I believe brings me closer to the Divine and closer to my true Self. And it was so amazing to be contemplating these thoughts or others that would drift by on the mental screen when the sun would break thru the clouds and completely change the mood and feel of the scene before and thus my thoughts, my mood as well. Then the sun would go away and the rain would come and then again, the visual mood or resonance would shift ever so slightly (or sometimes quite dramatically) and the thought pattern would shift as well. I feel so grateful for moments like that – personal, private, transformative – seeing clearly a universal truth. And this was all during the gray drizzly cool winter season. I can’t imagine what my reactions or thoughts would be during the spring and summer when there are flowers, steady sunlight and warm air!

After visiting what I consider to be a mini-Mecca to me, the Japanese Gardens, we then left the gardens to visit one of Leigh’s mini-Mecca’s – Powell’s New & Used Bookstore. Imagine a 3 story city block of books, floor to ceiling high. This place is amazing! A virtual maze of literature, history, humor, politics, science….you name it, they have it. We spend over 2 hours perusing, reading, looking up, and getting lost in words. They have a coffee shop in the middle of it so you can get fueled too. Border’s and Barnes have nothing on this place. It is so refreshing (and necessary) to see large, successful, independent bookstores doing well. We both picked up a couple more books for the road (like we need anymore weight at this point – d’oh!)….for me Centennial by Michener, Dune by Herbert, and Confederacy of Dunces….for Leigh she got a couple academic books and an art book….in other words, I got the fun ones and she got the heady ones.

Now, before we leave Portland, there is one more place I have to describe – The Kennedy School. Nothing probably sums up the quirky cool of Portland like this place does. Built in the early part of the 20^th century, it was an elementary school for many, many years. At some point it closed down and began to fall into disrepair. At another point in the not too distant past, the school was either bought or donated and it was renovated very creatively. It is a large single floor building with beautiful dark hard wood floors and paneling. During the renovations, tile mosaics where created on the walls and snake down the halls in vine like patterns erupting in colorful flowers or sun splashes every random while. There are large b&w photographs on the wall displaying the’ Class of 1919’, the very first class of Kennedy, the very last class at Kennedy, and images of the city of Portland during the 10’s, 20’s & 30’s. There are also a variety of paintings done by local artists following an education/school/Kennedy theme full of color and craziness. There are two bars – one is called the Dunce Room, the other called the Honor Room. There is a pretty good restaurant that serves microbrews and pub food. There are a couple large cafeteria style rooms that were rented out the night we went there by a crawfish boil and a family reunion. And the piece-de-resistance for me was the small swimming pool they have converted into a hot bath. It is located outside so we were lounging in 102 degree water while the cold Portland air and drizzle kept our hair and heads chilly. Closest thing to a Colorado winter hot tub post skiing I’ve had! It was fabulous. Deb had invited a bunch of her friends down to join us so we could meet some new people and enjoy a nice sense of community with her. And after the very relaxing soak we headed into the pub for some good beers and food. The place is eclectic, creative, relaxing, stimulating, historical, educational, fun, and totally enjoyable….much like Portland.

Portland, January 2006

You will never guess what we saw today….THE SUN!!! It’s amazing how much a Georgia boy can miss the sun even after just a few days of gray and drizzle. And you know it’s bad when someone from Oregon tells you it’s the worst week of rain they’ve seen in 4 ½ years. Ouch. But today the sun came out and stayed out. It was an epic battle in the skies between the clouds and sun, but the star won out and it was an absolutely gorgeous day. Still chilly and very breezy, but bright and sunny, blue skies and brilliant greens everywhere. Gave quite the nice impression of Portland. So, so nice. And we spent virtually all of it outside walking.

We got to Portland late last night after a friendly hand off in Olympia outside The Lemon Grass, a delicious Thai restaurant in the sleepy capital of Washington. Olympia is a very convenient place basically half way between Seattle and Portland. Christy (Leigh’s Seattle friend) and Deb (Leigh’s Portland friend) were with Leigh during her year long stay in Nepal back in 1997, so it was quite the reunion between them all, if only for a few minutes.

Deb is such an amazing woman. She is basically single-handedly running an international NGO called the Pangaea Project (www.thepangaeaproject.org). The mission of Pangaea is “By engaging teenagers from underserved neighborhoods in local and international service-learning projects, The Pangaea Project promotes the development of leadership skills, increases global awareness, and fosters a commitment to work towards social change, profoundly transforming both the participants and their communities.” As I understand it, the Project recruits 15-20 middle school to high school students from a couple local schools to participate. Once selected, the kids are educated on several global issues, such as oil, deforestation, the global market, etc. Then at the end of a 6-8 week education process, the kids go on a trip to Ecuador for 4 weeks. There they stay with host families, meet communities directly impacted by the issues they have just learned about, and they take on a community development project working with the local people to help make it a better place. Like a very short Peace Corps but with a cross cultural community development mission. She only started it a little over a two years ago, but already it is taking off….The Everyone Orchestra (members of Phish, String Cheese, Jazz Mandolin Project, Spearhead and many other very talented and well know musicians) puts on a fundraiser every year, the community of Portland (and yes, it is really still that small feeling to call a major city a community) is totally behind the Project and Deb, and her 1^st newsletter mailing has already exceeded their expectations by thousands of dollars! It is absolutely so inspiring to see someone, much less a friend, take an idea, turn it into reality, and gain the enthusiastic support of her community, and then start changing the world. Simply amazing. Thinking globally, acting locally. That’s it right there. That’s all any of us need to do – Think Global, Act Local.

I’ve only met a couple of Deb’s friends and heard about a couple more and though I’m traveling to Tibet and starting my own photography business, I feel like a slack ass extraordinaire compared to Deb & them! It makes me wonder what this world would be like if we all met our full potential. Yes, I said the P word. Potential. The one word I heard again and again growing up….in school, in sports, that word was my nemesis. Let’s face it; it is easy to be lazy; it is easy to stay ignorant; it is easy to maintain the status quo. Yet there came a time in my life when I realized that there are certain doors, certain actions, certain levels of awareness that once opened, once committed, could never be closed. Once the faucet of realization has been turned on, it is nearly impossible to turn it off. Not that I ever would turn it off. I couldn’t imagine my life now without this growing compassion, spiritual awareness and social dedication. I don’t know when it stopped being a dirty word to me, but I now look at Potential as a goal or something to strive for and no longer something to be scared of or overwhelmed by. In fact, I’m beginning to think that this time, this life we experience here on Earth is only a small part of the evolutionary journey toward our true Potential. Maybe it manifests as vibrating as pure energy, maybe discovering Paradise is locked within, maybe the prison of Reality slowly erodes along with the false Fear of separation. Maybe my potential is what your potential needs.

May I be my dreams…may I be your dreams…may I be my idealism…may I be your idealism…may I be my Potential.

This is one reason why I am so excited and anxious at the same time about this trip. This journey represents the ultimate opportunity to both expand and possible meet my full potential, at least on a few different levels (specifically as an artist, photographer, story-teller, husband and global citizen). This is such an incredible opportunity to really see what I can do. No longer bound by ‘working hours’ of 9 to 5, no longer restricted to the 2 or 3 trips a year outside my box, no longer do I report to anyone else but myself. I can tackle the stories I find gripping. I am fully open to explore the photograph my heart and eye compel me to make. There are no line to color outside of….I am making the drawing as I go along! This also means there are no limits, no boundaries, no rules (except maybe those imposed by the Chinese authorities), and no guidebook. I know I will get lost. I know I will stumble. But I am so ecstatically happy to really see what I can do without anyone or anything holding me back.

Today was a great, great Portland day. We took advantage of the sun and blue skies to walk around and visit several neighborhoods and one really nice city park. (For those of you who give me shit about ‘knowing everyone in Athens and Atlanta’, you will appreciate this: I kid you not, but every single place we went, be it a store, a restaurant, a coffee shop, or even the park, Deb knew at least someone if not more than one someone! It brought a smile to my face thinking that Deb could be Portland’s me). We began the day with a delicious breakfast at the Tin Shed (for those of you familiar with the area) and then a nice leisurely stroll down her neighborhood’s main drag. Full of galleries, co-ops, coffees shops, cute boutiques, artists, hippies, punks and your everyday weirdoes, it reminded me of Little 5 Points in Atlanta but 15 years ago. It is a neighborhood in transition as the urban pioneers move in and begin rejuvenating the area.

Whereas Seattle is a large city of corporations, high rise buildings, interstates and suburbs; Portland is a large group of neighborhoods bunched together in four quadrants (NW, SW, NE, SE) around a fairly small downtown. Whereas Seattle reminds me a lot of Atlanta, Portland reminds me of Athens and Boulder combined. In other words, my kind of town!

After breakfast, we took off to Mount Taber Park, an extinct volcano right on the outskirts of town. There were beautiful views of Portland and the surrounding hills from the top. And then the rain returned and we stopped in at the local used bookstore, Powell’s, for a cup of coffee, some chat time and a few lazy moments of book perusal. When the clouds broke again an hour or so later, it was time for Leigh and Deb to go for their acupuncture appointment, which left me hanging at the house catching up on some nice quiet time writing and photo editing.

Long ago I realized that to be happy and content, I need some good alone time everyday. I really cherish my time alone. I love my wife, I love my friends and I love to meet new people, but I use my time alone to recharge my batteries by being quiet, listening to music, dancing, doing yoga, reading a book, etc. It’s good for the spirit, being alone, being quiet. Without the recharge, I would not have nearly as much of myself to give out.